


5 Times Neal Confused Peter

by Fedora Of Adorableness (TheTimelessChild0)



Category: White Collar
Genre: 5+1 Things, Autistic Neal Caffrey, Fluff and Humor, Overstimulation, Satchmo is a good dog, Stimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimelessChild0/pseuds/Fedora%20Of%20Adorableness
Summary: And 1 time it all made sense.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke & Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey, Neal Caffrey/Rebecca Lowe
Comments: 2
Kudos: 121
Collections: autfic by autistics





	5 Times Neal Confused Peter

**#1-Distracted**

Peter often wondered how Neal was able to forge so many paintings, when he couldn’t even stand still for a second. 

They were just waiting at a red light when a squirrel hopped across the road. 

“Watch out for that squirrel,” Neal pointed. 

“I see it,” he nodded simply. 

The light turned yellow. A nut fell down, leading the squirrel away. 

  
“Ooh, a nut fell down. Wonder which tree?” Neal stuck his head out to check. “Incredible. Perfect break”, he admired. 

  
“Hey, every part of you _inside_ the car please,” Peter yanked at his shoulder.

Neal continued stretching to observe the rodent. 

**#2-Stimming**

The case was difficult. Actually, scratch that. The case was _impossible_. Every piece of information led back and forth in circles. Like a snake chasing its own tail. 

Neal grabbed his hat off Socrates, spinning it around. He proceeded to hum 'Lean On Me' by Bill Withers. 

Once he reached the chorus, his pencil was hitting the desk. 

“Do you mind?” Diana requested. 

“What? It’s a classic,” 

“I don’t care. That pencil belongs to the FBI,” she pointed out. 

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, noticing his consultant getting into the mind of a sloth. 

“Focusing,” Neal shrugged. 

“Doesn’t look like it,” he raised an eyebrow. 

  
“Oh really, then how did I find this vacation home in Belize not listed on his tax returns?” he handed Agent Burke the file. 

“You know, most people sit on the actual chair,” Peter noted. 

“I’m not most people,” Neal smirked. 

**#3-Eye contact**

Peter was going through the plan for an infiltration. It involved Neal as Nick Halden, wishing to invest in a company but having doubts, while Peter dug around the file room. 

He poked Neal. “You with us?” he questioned, exasperatedly. 

“Of course. I go in as Nick Halden, wishing to invest in a company for Adler’s right-hand man, ask a bunch of questions while you check out a back room,” Neal recited. 

“That’s right...Good,” Peter frowned. 

**#4-Hands  
**

Neal had gone to prison in the early 2000s. He’d also spent a lot of time in Europe before that. So it was very puzzling why he was so scared of revolving doors. 

Every time they had to enter through one, he’d put his hand up, as if to ensure that it didn’t go backwards and slap him in the face. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” Peter asked, as they entered a grocery store. 

“Doing what?” 

“Every time we encounter revolving doors, or a sliding door, you seem to be protecting yourself from it. Childhood fear?” he guessed. 

“It’s not that simple,” Neal remarked, grabbing noodles. He didn’t elaborate. 

**#5-Ties**

Peter found himself wondering what he’d done to upset Neal. 

Every time he got close, he flinched away. He made Jones take off his anklet for an operation. 

“I’ve got it” he insisted, taking it out of Peter’s hand and clicking it in place on his own leg. 

  
“Okay, spill. What did I do? Is it my cologne?” 

“Huh. Fascinating. I was just about to ask you the same question,” Neal hissed. 

Peter just shrugged. 

“So you haven’t been taunting me with that all day?” he pointed at the tie. It had a mustard stain, not sufficiently removed. 

“I was in a hurry this morning. I ran it in the sink. Cold water instead of hot, I know..no one else have noticed,” Peter frowned curiously.

“Well they haven’t made a career forging Canadian 100-dollar bills,” Neal scoffed. “It’s been driving me crazy all day,” he emphasised by holding his hand as if he was itching to clean it himself. Which he basically was. 

“Well, I can’t clean it here, I’ll just take it off,” Peter surrendered easily. Neal applauded in an exaggerated manner like at the opera. 

**+1 Overstimulation**

The dinner had been...tense, to say the least. Neal really hadn’t intended for Peter to find out about Rebecca, much less his cover that involved impersonating an FBI agent. 

He didn’t even wait until they were on the train home before he lectured him on what laws he was breaking. 

“Oh thank god,” Neal sighed, hearing the telltale sign of a train, moving towards it. 

“That’s the wrong train, we’re waiting for the L train,” Peter corrected, patting his back reassuringly. Neal moved back, but was rapidly run over by a fleeing purse-snatcher. He ended up on the edge of the platform. 

Elizabeth quickly ran to his aid, Peter just looking down at him, concerned. 

Neal tried to get up, but was immediately distracted by a loud whooshing sound. He turned his head and saw the bright lights of an approaching train. 

He looked down at his filthy suit. The train passed before his eyes, clickety-clacking loudly, and equally loudly announcing itself. He felt the air and a bit of the metal rubbing against his face. 

He recoiled. He curled up, covering his head with his arm. His left hand started clapping the floor. 

“Neal? Neal!” Peter touched his shoulder. Neal shuffled away. 

Elizabeth approached slowly. “Are you alright?” she asked quietly. 

Neal started mumbling. The Burkes didn’t understand it at first, until Peter crouched down. 

The agent checked his pulse carefully. 

“He’s not having a stroke,” he murmured. It wasn’t very clarifying. Then he heard it. 

“Sing a sad song, and make it better,” Neal sang. 

Peter pulled some hair back from his ear, paying the utmost attention. He looked at Neal. He realised what the hand was doing. It was following the beat of the song. 

Peter had no idea _what_ was happening, but he had a fleeting thought. An idea struck him. 

It was _odd_ , but he figured it might work. He picked up Neal’s hat. 

“Then you can start to make it better,” he started singing along. 

He gestured to Elizabeth to join in. Thankfully, she also knew the words. 

She began stroking his back rhythmically. 

Peter waved his hand in front of Neal. He looked up, slowly. Peter was spinning his hat. 

“Hey, Jude..refrain. Don’t carry the world, upon your shoulders,” he smiled at Neal. 

His hand was on his shoulder as he sang. Neal had started spinning with his hand. He reached for the hat. Elizabeth’s hand never left his back, as he got up. The left hand was used to brush himself off. 

Peter skipped a verse, watching Neal’s breathing with the words “let it out and let it in”. 

Elizabeth went straight to the chorus. 

By the second ‘Hey Jude’, Neal hugged Peter. 

“You ok, Neal?” he asked. 

“You made it better,” Neal confirmed. “Sorry about that...got a little overwhelmed,” 

“That’s okay, why don’t we sit back down,” Peter suggested. 

They did just that. 

There was a moment of silence..then Peter grabbed Neal’s hand. 

“Neal. You were more than a little overwhelmed. What happened?” he asked softly. 

Neal lowered his hat slightly, massaging the top his head. He stretched his neck and put his hat back in its place, fixing his hair. 

He looked straight at Peter with exhausted eyes. 

“Too much,” was his only words. “It was just...way too much,” he looked down. 

“Too much what?” 

“Everything. The noise, the air, the dirt..too much _going in here_ ,” Neal gestured at his brain. 

“Too much _stimuli_ ,” Peter guessed. 

Neal nodded. 

“Why haven’t I ever seen this happen before?” he couldn’t help asking. 

Neal shrugged. “It’s rare for me..somehow. Never came up. Even shoot-outs have an area I can focus on,” he explained. 

“I have autism,” he stated. 

Peter sat back, nodding. Everything fell into place. The stimming, the touch sensitivity...

“Why do I not know that?” he pondered. 

“It was never documented. WitSec, remember? I was told, then they shredded the evidence before I switched schools, _yet again_ ,” Neal explained. 

“That’s why you have trouble with eye contact,” Peter realised. 

“Ding ding ding, point to Peter,” 

“What’s the deal with you and automatic doors?” he continued.

“When I was a kid, I was scared of the sharp edges. I thought they’d slice me up. The hand is to establish distance. It’s comforting. Makes me feel safe,” Neal smiled shyly. It was Peter's turn to stroke his back.

“Isn’t ADHD part of the spectrum?” Elizabeth piped up. 

“Honestly, I wouldn’t have pegged you as a drama queen,” he joked. “I’m really more ADD, less H. It’s just plain excitement,” Neal corrected, nodding nonetheless.

“Just one more question: why do you sit on chairs like that?” Peter asked. 

“When I was in elementary school, the chairs were way too solid, with a dip in them, uncomfortable and wooden. But the armrests were slick, so I began sitting on that instead. It made me more active in class, so the teacher didn’t care. Priorities, after all,” he retold. 

“Maybe use a quieter pencil, should keep Diana off your back” Peter advised. 

“Noted. And I’ll get you some tie cleaner,” Neal said, standing up. 

“I didn’t even know that was a thing,” Burke shook his head, befuddled. 

They stepped on the train. That was the end of that conversation. 

⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫

Satchmo jumped up on Neal as soon as he laid eyes on the human. 

“He’s even happier to see him than us. That’s new,” Elizabeth noted. 

Peter smiled at the hugging taking place on the floor. 

“Well, you know what I always say: everything has an explanation,” he replied, pointing specifically at Neal. 

Both tilted their heads, nodding in fascination. 

While the con man was scratching the dog’s ears, his eyes looked _straight ahead,_ at Satchmo. Complete, uninterrupted eye contact. 

**Dogs aren’t called man’s best friend for nothing. This _particular_ dog, was the best friend of a _particular_ man. With a _particular_ brain. And that evening in particular, Neal appreciated all of it.**

**THE END**


End file.
